


Just Wanna Wear Your Sweater

by DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee



Series: Can't Catch Lightning [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, American Football, And literally anyone who knows anything about this sport, Gen, Homecoming, Homecoming Game, I apologize to the NFL, I know nothing about American football, M/M, Sharing Clothes, broganes, letterman jackets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 18:15:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15690744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee/pseuds/DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee
Summary: It’s Hunk’s letterman jacket. And somehow it ended up draped over a sleeping Keith.He can feel the flush rising in his cheeks as he looks up, and oh, there he is, glancing up and away from the coach and the team huddle just in time to catch Keith’s eyes with his own. Hunk. He raises a hand in a cute little wave and Keith wonders if he’ll notice when Keith just fucking evaporates from embarrassed delight.





	Just Wanna Wear Your Sweater

**Author's Note:**

> SEASON 7 WAS A WILD RIDE
> 
> Overall I loved it, but there are some things I wasn't happy about, check out my tumblr if you want a complete breakdown of my season 7 thoughts complete with the unfiltered caps lock post-binge spazzing. 
> 
> Ahem. I am an American. I went to an American public high school. I still know fuck-all about American football or Homecoming games. My high school was small and artsy and no one cared about football, least of all me. So...there's that. 
> 
> Anyway, have some fluffy Heith fluff because come on, SEASON 7 HAD SOME SUPER AWESOME HEITH MOMENTS.

**Just Wanna Wear Your Sweater**

**One.**

            Keith didn’t mean to fall asleep. Just like he didn’t mean to stay up all night traveling further and further down a Wikipedia rabbit hole until he’d gone from looking up the correct spelling of ‘Ragueneau’ for his paper on _Cyrano de Bergerac_ to obsessively researching The Great Emu War. He’d jerked awake at five am, just in time to rush out two more pages and a conclusion for his essay before he had to scramble to get to school on time.

            He wasn’t on time, he was late to Calculus, but who needs fancy math anyway?  
            (Okay, so astrophysicists need fancy math, but Keith would rather be the one soaring into the stars rather than the one thinking about how maybe another person _might_ soar into the stars. He’s more of an Indiana Jones than an Isaac Newton, anyway.)

            His math class is on the second floor, but he manages to be under ten minutes late instead of over fifteen because he climbs the tree outside the classroom and throws rocks at the window next to Pidge’s head until she and Lance let him in. He gets two weeks of detention for the stunt, instead of the two days he would have gotten for being late, but he contends that scaling the building was awesome enough to make up for it.

            By the end of the day, though, he’s pretty close to crashing. After riding the high of his victory against the laws of gravity (suck it, Newton), he’s merrily teetering between manic exhaustion, blissful unconsciousness, and sleep-deprived paranoia. He missed seeing Hunk before class (see: defying gravity and Wikipedia emus) so he stops by football practice to gleefully watch Hunk-the-human-teddy-bear transform into an opposition-smashing force of nature.

            One minute he’s giggling into the his hands, the sleeves of his red and black paisley-print sweater tugged over his knuckles for warmth and maximum coziness, watching as Hunk slams into yet another hapless teammate, the next he’s waking up, eyes tacky with sleep as the coach blasts his whistle. Time has passed, the light outside is beginning to go golden as it does before sunset sets in, and Keith has tipped over so his upper body lays across the bleacher he sits on. A soft, warm weight gently presses on the shoulder not against cold metal and Keith tips his head up inquisitively, nose bumping…a jacket?

            He sits up, rubbing absently at his ear where his earring (an old typewriter key, today, a gift from his mom, who has learned never to throw anything away by now) had pressed into his jaw uncomfortably. A heavy jacket, too big for Keith, slides away from his upper body. He catches it in his hands, brows furrowing as he examines it.

            It’s yellow and black with red accents and the classic lines and patches of…oh. It’s Hunk’s letterman jacket. And somehow it ended up draped over a sleeping Keith.

            He can feel the flush rising in his cheeks as he looks up, and oh, there he is, glancing up and away from the coach and the team huddle just in time to catch Keith’s eyes with his own. Hunk. He raises a hand in a cute little wave and Keith wonders if he’ll notice when Keith just fucking evaporates from embarrassed delight.

            Because this jacket is really warm, and it smells just like Hunk (cinnamon and flour and engine oil) and Keith’s pretty sure they’re going to have to pry it from his cold, dead hands when he just randomly expires from a Hunk-induced cute overload.

            Also, the red accents match Keith’s paisley sweater perfectly.

            He wraps it around his shoulders and smiles into his sweater-paw hands when Hunk blushes and looks away.

 

**Two.**

Keith takes every opportunity to steal the jacket from this point on. He’s decided. It’s his jacket now. No one else’s. He has to (grudgingly, but not really because he’s a total pushover when Hunk flashes him That Smile) return it periodically so it keeps smelling like baking snickerdoodles and building things. But Keith figures that’s sort of like…charging its goodness batteries. Just like Keith, it has to be exposed to Hunk’s pure cinnamon roll soul regularly or it’s not performing at optimum levels.

            Hunk’s sitting at lunch with his jacket on the table and his hands gesturing wildly as he tells a story about his littlest sister’s school play; Lance and Pidge listening attentively. Keith sidles up beside him, trying to look as casual as possible when he’s wearing guitar picks and washers as jewelry. He sets his lunch on the table and picks up the jacket as if he’s just going to move it. But instead he puts it on, watching as Lance’s eyes get huge, mouth dropping open into a silent laugh.

            “So, what are we talking about?” Keith says, only feeling a tiny bit smug at how casual he manages to make it sound.

            Lance is valiantly trying to make words with his face, but it’s too busy wheeze-laughing to manage it.  Pidge picks up the conversational slack, of course. “Wow, Keith, decided to accessorize?”

            “I always accessorize,” Keith says blandly, trading his celery for Lance’s carrots and accepting Pidge’s tapioca pudding cup when she swaps it for his apple slices.

            Hunk is staring at him and Keith is not looking at him because what if Hunk is upset he took the coat? What if Hunk makes him give the jacket _back_? Keith loves this jacket. It’s not quite as perfect as a Hunk hug but it’s heavy and presses on his shoulders and folds him up in its creases just right.

            “Uh, hi Keith.”

            “Hello, Hunk. Do you like raisins?” 

            “I never really formed an opinion on them.”

            “Lance and I don’t eat them, do you want them?”

            Hunk watches, nonplussed as Keith and Lance fall into their daily trail mix dissection ritual. “Thanks, buddy,” he says, apparently out of anything else to say.

            “You’re welcome,” Keith says magnanimously.

            “Is anyone going to say something about the jacket thing or are we just gonna be weird about it?” Pidge demands, apparently losing patience with them.

            “If Keith’s cold he can borrow it,” Hunk offers.

            “Yes, I’m freezing. I need this jacket to ward off hypothermia,” Keith deadpans, ignoring Lance when his best friend makes a dying whale noise of exasperation and thunks his forehead into the tabletop.

            Keith has no idea what _his_ problem is.

            He snuggles deeper into The Jacket and feels weirdly triumphant.

**Three.**

            “Are you going to the Homecoming game?” Shiro asks in study hall. He and Keith are supposedly putting up posters advertising some school fundraiser Keith doesn’t care about. In actuality, Shiro keeps stopping to text his boyfriend (Adam, he is apparently perfect and goes to school across town), suddenly remembering he’s supposed to be working, not smiling dopily at his phone, slapping a few more posters up as if speed will make up for fifteen minutes of complete negligence, and getting distracted by his phone all over again.

            Keith did not bother to pretend to care about putting up the posters in the first place and is instead sitting cross-legged on the floor, focusing on folding them into a flotilla of multicolored paper boats.  Maybe Hunk will be interested in floating them in the puddles outside later.

            “Are y _ou_ going to the Homecoming game?” Keith parrots back at Shiro. It’s not exactly the best comeback ever; especially considering Shiro is the co-captain of the football team and kind of required to be there.

            With a normal person there would be a fifty-fifty chance of Keith’s nonsensical response derailing the conversation at least a little bit. But this is Shiro. They’ve known each other since middle school. Shiro’s one of the only people besides Lance who remembers the Lost Summer when Keith’s dad died and his mom was still deployed overseas under heavy fire. 

            Keith spent three months practically glued to Shiro’s side in foster care, the older boy the thin lifeline between Keith and falling off the edge of the planet.

            (Keith had been afraid, so afraid when his mom came back, bloody and battered and hurting, that Shiro would resent him, would hate him for having a mother who could come home to him. Instead Shiro hugged him even tighter and told him Keith could always call him, no matter what, he’d come find him.)

            “Yeah, I’m going to the homecoming game,” Shiro says evenly, “College scouts are supposed to be there.”

            “ _Adam’s_ supposed to be there, you mean,” Keith points out.

            “Adam _and_ college scouts will be there,” Shiro says, still mellow even in the face of Keith’s prodding, “So are we going three for three? Will you be there too?”

            “Why, you’ve never wanted me to come to your games before,” Keith asks.

            “You’re always welcome to come to see my games,” Shiro offers, “Just, I remember an angry little twelve year old Keith scoffing something along the lines of ‘If I wanted to watch a bunch of muscle-y hot people fight over a small object, I’d re-watch the Avengers’. A one-liner you stole from Lance, by the way.”

            “Lance stole it from me,” Keith maintains, even in the face of Shiro’s disbelieving eye-roll.

            “So, will you be there?” Shiro asks.

            “Why do you want to know?” Keith demands, finally losing some of his composure.

            “Just… homecoming game is kind of a big deal for the football players’ significant others…”

            “So? You want me to give Adam a syllabus or something?”

            A dark eyebrow arches up as Shiro scans Keith’s outfit (A red t-shirt featuring a tyrannosaurus rex wearing a moustache, top-hat and monocle holding a cup of tea with the caption ‘Tea-Rex’ and black skinny jeans patterned with thin white pin-stripes), “You do know you’re wearing Hunk’s letterman jacket over that shirt Pidge gave you for your birthday, right?”

            Oh. That.

            Keith hunches into the jacket. “Shut up.”

            “So you’re coming to the Homecoming game, then?”

            “Ugh.” Keith folds a flyer into a ninja star, chunks it at Shiro’s face and flops backwards onto the hallway linoleum.

            Shiro catches the ninja star and tosses it back. “Make sure you cheer really loudly. People like that.”

            “Bite me.”

            “No thank you.”

           

**Four.**

            Hunk’s a hugger.  Keith is not, but when Rover does a trick perfectly on the first try, robotic servos whirring away as Pidge is pumps her fists in the air enthusiastically, and Hunk turns to Keith, a huge smile on his face, arms flying up to wrap around Keith’s shoulders and almost lift him off the ground in Hunk’s enthusiasm…Keith buries his face in Hunk’s soft cotton t-shirt and wishes he would zip up the letterman jacket around them so Keith could just stay here, pressed against Hunk’s heartbeat forever and ever.

 

**Five.**

            Lance goes all out on the snacks for the game because he has no chill at all. He makes a series of poster board signs with different players’ numbers on them so he can cheer for all their friends. (Keith’s not sure how he lucked out so much on the best friend front; he tries not to think about it, it makes his stomach twist weirdly.) He’s dropped all these “supplies” off with Keith before running off to join the rest of marching band, the plume of his ridiculous hat bouncing behind him.

            Homecoming is loud and crowded and everything Keith should hate more than anything else. But Adam meets Keith out front and basically carves a path through the masses of half-buzzed high schoolers through sheer force of personality (and probably some well-judged shoulder checks). Adam, Keith is quickly learning, is the kind of person who can just flatly stare at you through his glasses and make you reconsider all your life choices in under two seconds. Keith kind of wants to be him when he grows up, if he can’t manage to be Shiro or Krolia Kogane.

All around them Castleton High Students are screaming variations of “GO LIONS!” and on the field their bobble-headed lion mascot waves to the crowd and clowns around. Adam carries the posters because, as Lance McClain Creations™ they shed glitter like aggressively sparkly dandruff. Keith is wrapped in a yellow sweater reading ‘roar.’ in all lower-case across the chest (Mrs. McClain made it for him for Christmas when he and Lance were freshmen, it was three sizes too big at the time… she is apparently optimistic about Keith’s future muscle mass) and he doesn’t want to spend the next century beating stubborn sparkles out of the weave. A pair of round, yellow-lensed Paul McCartney sunglasses sit on his nose, and a dollar store lion ear headband complete with fuzzy faux-mane bits completes the look.

Down on the field the cheerleaders are working the crowd into a frenzy and the players huddle. Keith leans over to Adam, “Why do they do that? It looks like they didn’t study for a test and are trying to cram five minutes before the teacher hands it out.”

Adam snorts and shakes his head, “Oh my god, you’re right.”

Keith nods because he knows he’s right, sports are ridiculous if there aren’t swords involved. He eats a handful of jellybeans from the massive bag Lance shoved into his hands with a grimace (god bless WinCo for selling candy by the pound). They’re all cinnamon, buttered popcorn, black licorice, and pear flavored, because those are Keith’s favorite flavors.  Partly because they taste good and partly because most people find at least one of them disgusting and won’t ask to have any. 

Below the game starts in earnest and Keith finds himself tracking Hunk’s movements like a hunting hawk. He doesn’t really care about the other players (sorry Shiro and Pidge). There’s just something so hypnotic about watching Hunk body slam people. It’s like watching a natural event, like a glacier calving or a landslide. Keith once saw black and white photos taken when Mt. Vesuvius (of Pompeii fame) erupted during World War II. Hunk in action reminds him of one where the clouds of ash and rubble are advancing on the cameraman and even decades later the viewer can’t help but bite back a shout of warning.

Get out of the way, get down, the world’s on fire and it’s coming for you.

They win, of course they win, Keith would roll his eyes at the cliché high school movie-ness of it all, but he’s too busy grinning as Romelle bounces over in her cheerleading uniform to crush Allura and Pidge in hugs and a beaming Shiro drags Adam off the last step of the stands and sweeps him into an absurd black and white movie dip kiss.  Lance and the rest of band are whooping and hollering; Ezor, captain of the cheerleading squad, is gleefully making out with one of the opposing team’s linebackers (a terrifying girl named Zethrid).

Keith’s looking for one person; his whole body vibrating with the crowd’s madcap high spirits and a full-body electric charge of his own making. His eyes catch on Hunk, and Keith doesn’t freeze up for once. He’s shoving his way through the crowd until he’s right in front of a beautiful boy with warm brown eyes and flushed brown cheeks and messy helmet hair.

“You came to the game,” Hunk grins at him, “You didn’t have to. I mean, Shiro said you might, but you didn’t have to. I mean, I kind of thought maybe you’d be interested since you’ve been wearing my jacket a lot, but…”

“You thought I was wearing your jacket because I suddenly liked football?”

“Uhhh…”

Keith snorts, and grabs the collar of Hunk’s uniform, tugging him down gently so they’re closer to eye level. “That’s dumb.”

“Well, okay, I know it’s a little far-fetched, but…”

“I don’t care about football. I care about you.”

            Keith Kogane has never had great impulse control. But he can honestly say he 100%, without a doubt does not regret at all what he does next. Because kissing a football player right after their team wins the Homecoming game might be a ridiculous, cringe-worth cliché of a thing to do, but kissing Hunk Garrett is completely worth it.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title from 'you think i think i sound like god' by Amy Shark.


End file.
